While I may be a diva, I’m not a snob. So off we went to see the trailer. On the short trip to the neighboring city, my mind raced. Would the trailer park have a community pool? Would it be lush with trees and gardens? Did it have plenty of visitor parking spaces for my party guests?

As the GPS led us into an industrial part of the city, I grew apprehensive. While I wasn’t expecting Rodeo Drive, I certainly hadn’t anticipated dreary grey buildings and huge construction equipment ambling down the dusty road to their compound.

This isn't the home for us.

Located in the center of this industrialized sector, the trailer park was older than I expected and it had zero amenities. The trailer unit itself had been dreadfully neglected. It looked like a time capsule for the 70’s—nothing had been updated since! Now I know why the realtor’s flyer cropped the photo of the interior. I couldn’t imagine us living there. I couldn’t imagine us inviting anyone to visit. It was so ghastly I almost packed my bags for Arkansas.

I nearly gagged. Not because I’m snooty, but because the air in the unit reeked.